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“No?” He raised an incredulous brow, his body shifting toward her almost—almost—imperceptibly. His reserved, nice-guy persona was gone, replaced by the sizzling tension flowing from his body to hers. A familiar crackle between them. “There is something I need to apologize for.”
“Oh? Hmm.”
“I lied to you when I said I wasn’t jealous. I was. I am.”
Good god. What was it she was supposed to do? Be strong? Ignore him?
Every fiber in her body felt on edge, her skin already on fire, and he hadn’t even touched her yet. “That’s not—there’s nothing…no. There’s nothing for you to be jealous of. Right?”
With his hands on the floor, Mike moved forward a few inches, crowding her space. She swallowed, a helpless fawn hunted by a wolf.
He curved one palm around her ankle. “I am under no illusions here, peaches. I know you are much better at this than I am.”
She swallowed, shaking her head infinitesimally. Because, no, she was not better at this than he was.
“But I can’t help it. I am jealous of every guy who will get to dance with you, flirt with you, see you in those dresses. I’m jealous of every person who gets more minutes with you than I do.”
Sam breathed out slowly, afraid if she made any sudden moves, he’d stop. And she didn’t want him to stop. She wanted his rasped words to be true. To be real.
With his hands smoothing around her knees, up her outer thighs, he dropped his voice even lower. “I want you to go and have fun on your trip. I want you to dance and flirt, and while you’re drinking the drinks guys will buy you, I want you to remember what my hands feel like on you. How you squirm with my mouth on your neck.”
His fingers played with the soft cotton of her lounge shorts, his touch and words winding through her chest, bubbling up too many feelings. And she barely held back from confessing that she could never forget, that she never wanted to, despite what he may think.
Taking control, she slipped into his lap, no longer the prey. He moved his hands to her hips and then her backside, and she took that as an invitation to push him down to the floor, crushing her mouth to his. He tasted like cinnamon, and his lips felt like heaven, sucking and prodding. Under her fingers, his muscles tightened and released as he tugged at her clothes.
“I’m sorry, peaches.” He kissed across the shoulder he revealed when he pulled over the collar of her T-shirt. “I don’t know what I’m doing, and I can’t stand the thought that I made you upset.”
“I’m not upset.” She moved her hands to his shoulders to sit up, staring at his face, taking in his flushed cheeks and the spark of heat in his dark eyes.
“I was in a bad mood yesterday,” he explained. “I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”
“What happened?” she asked, but when he seemed like he wanted to skim over it, she stopped his hand from inching up to the clasp of her bra. “Tell me.”
He grunted a noise of disagreement, but whatever it was he saw on her face—maybe the fact that she wasn’t going to drop it—made him give up. He guided her to lie on the floor next to him, tucking her up against his side, and ran his hand over his face a few times before dropping his hand on his sternum. She covered it with her own hand.
“I wasn’t going to college,” he started after a while. “I wasn’t good at school. I didn’t like it, so I knew I didn’t want to be an academic, but I didn’t know what else I wanted to do. Or what I could do. You know? I was an athlete. When the recruiter came, the Marines seemed like a good deal. I could have a career in the military, that’s what I planned for. The long haul, maybe…I don’t know, a position in the government or something. I’m a team player by make.” He turned to look at Sam, a faint curl to his lips that she traced with her index finger.
“I know,” she said.
He moved his attention back to the ceiling, and her finger slipped to his jaw and beard. She instinctively rounded into him, offering silent support when it seemed like the next words were difficult. “I was a good service member, which feels weird to say. I was taking and giving orders. I was good in combat…”
Sam hid her grimace against his neck. He didn’t need to finish that sentence. She wasn’t sure if she could truly hear him say it.
“It was my job,” he said, his words a little sturdier. “And most days had nothing to do with fighting or war or shuffling us around like we were playing chess. But the days when I did…my job…they were hard.”
His voice broke on the last word, and she laid her head on his chest, listening to thethump thump thumpof his heart. He brushed a big hand through her hair a few times, and she could hear and feel how his pulse settled down.
“We helped people. That was what I focused on. We were training Kurds to be able to defend themselves. We weren’t always on the offense. We gave them supplies. I was helping people,” he said as if to remind himself.
“I know,” she whispered, kissing his chest.
“When people find out I served, sometimes they want to shake my hand and thank me, and I never know what to say.” He shook his head. “I did my job. You know? People don’t shake the hand of the guy working at the gas station or the woman serving our coffee. Everybody is doing their job. I was doing my job. I don’t need a handshake.”
When he didn’t say anything else, Sam lifted up onto her elbow. “That’s why you were in a bad mood yesterday?”
He still didn’t meet her eyes. “After my first contract was up, I knew there was nothing else for me, so I reenlisted. I didn’t have any other skills besides what they taught me, and I thought I’d retire from service. But now…”
She palmed his jaw, forcing him to finally meet her gaze.
